In a World of Perpetual Noise – Disconnecting is the Best Way of Connecting Genuinely

Dear Friends,

I'm in Boulder, Colorado, today, where around one hundred colleagues gather for a retreat that celebrates the work we do with CEOs and business leaders. It's not a business gathering, and we don't focus on professional development, at least in the traditional sense. Instead, there is a sense of renewal that we derive from focusing on listening and discussing things that are most meaningful to our work and lives, and challenging our thinking in the same way we challenge our clients. I have been doing this for the past ten years and always leave feeling excited about the future, filled with energy and enthusiasm, and the kinds of insight I only find in dialogue with this remarkable community.

I am especially appreciative today, because I very nearly didn't make it this year. Following the time off I wrote about last week, my wife rushed me to an emergency room two nights ago, when I discovered that my heartrate was double what it should be - and that I had been having some cardiac episode for several days - that I had assumed what just "feeling under the weather" and had ignored. I'm not making this a PSA about heart health, but I want to bring to your attention how a peaceful, relaxing escape from the business of everyday life can turn in a single heartbeat - and bring you to places you don't expect to be.

Dr. Lee Thayer has suggested that a critical aspect of leadership is being prepared for the things we cannot expect, which means focusing on who you are for the times when you cannot possibly plan what to do. Life is filled with the unexpected: some are the most wondrous things we can't imagine, and others are the sorts of things we avoid if we can. The lesson to learn is how to take life as it comes, and see every moment as an opportunity to be curious, filled with appreciation and gratitude, and embrace the uncertainties we face as the texture that makes life exciting.

Have a great week!

prl

In a World of Perpetual Noise – Disconnecting is the Best Way of Connecting Genuinely

Last week, I wrote about getting away with my wife, Lynn, and two of our adult children to unplug and spend quality time together. We rented a quiet beach house on the Great Peconic Bay, which sits between the eastern forks of Long Island. The South Fork is home to the Hamptons, known for its celebrities and lavish lifestyle, while the North Fork is quieter and lazier, with wonderful wineries surrounded by farmstands and the kind of expansively farmed fields that suggest that, for some people, life hasn’t changed that much over the past one hundred years.

The calm waters of the bay divide the “Tale of Two Forks.” South Jamesport is a 30-minute drive from the crashing waves of the Atlantic Ocean to the south and the Long Island Sound to the north. While Lynn and I find the ocean deeply renewing, it was this calm that we came for. A place to turn off my electronic devices and silence the news, email, and constant messaging that fill our days – and get lost in some wonderful bottles of Chenin Blanc, Cabernet Franc – and the fermented nectar of a variety of grapes that make Eastern Long Island the perfect place to escape and disconnect from the world and reconnect with our kids.

Earlier in life, I focused on being a photographer and became fascinated with contrasts. The nuances of textures and static shapes, juxtaposed against vast landscapes, inspired me to use words to write in the same way. Great photographers like Ansel Adams demonstrated that we can see colors in shades of grey in their distinctive perspectives and framing, expressed through their meticulous attention to craft.

Contrasting last week’s idyllic experience of sand, sky, water, wine, and sumptuous dining and being disconnected from the world the other night, I suddenly found myself connected to an electrocardiogram in the emergency room of a top regional hospital. Not realizing that my pulse had been racing out of control, I had been feeling unwell for days.

The EKG identified an arrhythmia called an aortic flutter, with clearly identifiable strings of sawtooth beats where there should be none. My heart rate rose to twice its normal rhythm, then returned to normal as we watched the screen. The condition made me fatigued, lightheaded, and somewhat disoriented.

I was assured that this could all be managed – and less than 24 hours later, thanks to some medication to slow my heart rate and a procedure known as cardioversion to shock my heart back to a normal sinus rhythm eclectically, I was home again, feeling as appreciative of the chaos of the hospital as the serenity of the bay, basking in my appreciation that life isn’t measured by how many times our heart beats, but by the people in our lives who cause our heart to skip a beat, who fill our hearts with love, caring and joy – and who fill the space between the beats in ways that make life precious and fully worth living.